it's lovely weather (for a sleigh ride together with you)
by TheWritingManiac
Summary: In which Harry Potter, a world-famous musician, is hired to perform at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show in London. When he meets his best friend's little sister, an Angel, he thinks probably doesn't have a chance—but it's Christmas, the most magical time of the year. Anything can happen. Hinny, AU. For Mia. Merry Christmas!


**Notes: Most of this was written in about 3 weeks and edited in a few hours, so. Expect some mistakes. :)**

 **To Mia (herecomesthepun)—Merry Christmas! I can't even begin to say how awesome you are and how much I value our friendship. Thank you so much for always being there with your amazing comments for my stories, fangirling over Ed Sheeran and TS and all the others, and basically just being an all-around amazing person. Whether it's the Oreos talking about everything from crushes to friends to stories to school, or just me sitting with a dorky smile on my face reading your commentary for random stories, I absolutely love every minute and memory we've made together (and Helena too, we can't forget our strawberry oreo XD) Love you so much babe and I hope you enjoy!**

 **Title from** ** _Sleigh Ride_** **(Johnny Mathis).**

 **•**

His hands are shaking _insanely_ hard.

Harry shakes his head wryly as he pulls his guitar strap over his head. There is absolutely _no_ reason to be freaking out over this show, he tells himself sternly. He's performed in lots of huge concerts, the sea of fans often amounting to over 50,000 tickets per show.

But singing while lingerie-clad women strut down the catwalk, winking and blowing kisses to the audience, with over 60 _million_ people watching?

Okay, _yeah_. Maybe he has a right to be freaking out over performing at the annual _Victoria's Secret_ fashion show.

He has twenty-four hours and counting till the real deal; the rehearsal is in full bloom currently, and he idly wonders what he's going to eat afterwards. Stunning models stalk by as he sings, their gorgeous bodies nearly naked. He counts thirteen blondes and fifteen brunettes as they parade by, winking at him and sauntering to the music.

It isn't so much that he's _unused_ to seeing beautiful women. His job requires him to meet a variety of people in a variety of places, but that doesn't stop him from being insanely uncomfortable talking with any girl around his age. His best friend, Ron, teases him mercilessly sometimes about how awkward he is with the opposite sex.

To be fair, Ron's pale face turns the same shade as his hair whenever he talks to a pretty girl, so. Harry's pretty sure neither of them can give advice.

"Cara, start your run over," says an older woman to the blond model who has just come out. Her glasses are pushed over her graying hair, and she peers down at a clipboard. "Potter, if you'll start the last line again?"

Harry nods agreeably, glancing down at his guitar and finding the right chord. The mic attached to his ear squeals suddenly, and the model about to pass him covers her ears, wincing.

"Sorry," he says, hastily apologizing and looking everywhere but the scantily clad young woman in front of him. The model's long, coffee-colored hair is thick and curly and wild and _gorgeous_ , like the stylists had decided simply to leave it in its natural state. Her warm brown eyes, enhanced with a thick layer of eyeshadow, seem to twinkle at him.

"Don't worry about it," she says, tapping her stiletto-clad foot as directors hurry about on the ground below them. "Your newest album is fantastic, by the way. You probably don't remember me, but I was in one of your music videos once."

Harry gasps, snapping his fingers. "Hermione Granger, right?" He remembers her; she was an extra in one of his first music videos ever, before either of them really got big. They had eaten lunch together during the week of filming, discussing everything from their favorite multiverse theories to the best way to crack an egg.

Harry wishes they had kept in touch; she was _fun,_ and had been his friend before he was famous. He'd heard, of course, about her modeling contract with Victoria's Secret a few years back, and if he remembers correctly, she reached the Angel status just last year.

She beams, looking pleased that he remembers. "That's me. How have you been lately?"

Harry grins. "Pretty good. My best mate and I have been pretty busy this past year working on our albums, so it's nice to have a little more downtime now."

"That's fantastic," Hermione says earnestly. "Ron Weasley, right? I remember both of you from that Disney show when I was a kid."

Harry laughs. "Yeah, that was fun. I'm sure Ron would love to meet you; you know his sister, right? He talks about you sometimes."

"Yeah, Ginny's a sweetheart, one of my best friends. I've never met Ron, but I have heard a lot about him," Hermione supplies. "In fact, I think she's right after me, so maybe we can meet up for dinner after the rehearsal?"

Harry's eyes widen. "Right after you as in… she's in the show?"

Hermione looks amused. "Yeah, she's an Angel too. Didn't you know that? I would have thought Ron would have told you."

Harry squints, trying to remember. Now that he thinks about it, he vaguely recalls Ron saying something about his sister being a model, but for the life of him he can't remember being told she was a bloody Victoria's Secret Angel, one of the most coveted jobs in the world.

Hermione continues, "We should all meet up for a drink sometime! I know Ginny misses Ron, even though she won't admit it, and I'm staying in London until the middle of January."

Harry grins. "Yeah, that would be fantastic. Meet me after the rehearsal, yeah? And we can decide where to go for dinner. I'll bring Ron."

She smiles warmly. "That sounds great," she says before someone on the ground shouts something in their direction. "Oops, better get going. See you after this, then?"

"Sure, talk to you then," Harry replies quickly before finding his place in the song again. It's nice, he muses. Having a friend in the sea of models.

She sends a quick, real smile his way before continuing down the ramp, the model pout pasted back onto her face as she winks at the non-existent crowd.

Harry finishes the song, and after a nod from the director, begins the next one as a new round of models parade onto the ramp. The main theme this year is some kind of flower garden (or at least Harry thinks so, looking at the blonde in front of him who resembles a walking petunia.)

It seems like an eternity before Hermione, now dressed in a rose-colored lacy bra and panties set decorated with tiny rosettes, sashays out on the catwalk again. Her enormous wings, probably eight feet tall, are two giant pink roses held in an X shape with a pink ribbon. She winks at him – not the sultry, seductive wink she sends to the cameras, but a mischievous wink, like she's about to tell a joke. He grins back.

Then he chokes, and his fingers fumble on his guitar for a second before he manages to regain his composure. The next model he doesn't remember seeing before this; come to think of it, she might have passed him when his eyes were on the ground, trying to avoid blushing.

But really, Harry can't believe he didn't notice her before, because—

She's _stunning._

She's the first red-haired model he's seen; her long auburn hair swings in sultry waves, and the lacy yellow pieces she wears leave little to the imagination.

Harry's been… well, _unaffected_ by the other models in their underwear – even if he was awkward and uncomfortable around beautiful women, he usually wasn't aroused in any way. Basically, he's used to seeing attractive women in lingerie.

 _Wow, that came out wrong._

But now that he sees the dazzling ginger – well, he's glad he chose dark jeans instead of gym shorts.

Hermione, now passing him the other way going back, sees him staring and whispers, grinning mischievously, "The one and only Ginevra Weasley. I'll introduce her tonight, if you want," before she's again whisked away backstage.

Harry chokes again, and the older woman gives him an odd look. Probably she thinks he's been singing too long.

 _That's Ginevra Weasley? As in, the_ sister _of my best mate?_ he thinks frantically. _Oh, here she comes. Act normal._

She passes him, her hips swaying mesmerizingly, and this cute, flowery perfume washes over him. Her eyes catch his, and he may or may not actually _sniff_ in order to smell the light scent more heavily.

Okay, so. His best friend's sister is _gorgeous._

And from what Ron's mentioned, she's pretty cool, too. She runs marathons for charity and has a canary named Pigwidgeon and loves looking after her nieces and nephews. Harry remembers the first time they met, at the Teen's Choice Awards, and she was a little girl too star struck to even answer his friendly hello.

But now—

She smirks a little as she catches him staring, her peach lips turning up at the edges, and Harry tries to throw all his heart into performing the song, because he has to think about _something_ other than that long red hair brushing that lacy yellow bra and her _wings,_ giant yellow fairy-like wings with golden ribbons and bright sunflowers –

 _Fainting is not an option,_ he told himself silently. _Focus on the song. You're almost done._

He bites his lip. Why blushes (or boners, for that matter) had come into existence is honestly a mystery to him.

Finally, the last model struts by.

He strums the final chord, letting his voice die away softly, and the head director sends him a thumbs up. "Nice work, Potter!" she calls.

Harry nods, pasting on a smile for the crowd that's imaginary tonight, but will be all-too-real the next. Slipping his guitar strap from around his neck, he gives himself a one-handed massage while heading backstage.

Time to find Hermione.

(Of course, he would be lying if he said he wasn't looking out for a certain ginger, too.)

The ginger that finds him first, however, isn't the one he's looking for. "Good job, mate," Ron Weasley tells him, clapping him on the shoulder and pulling his headphones down. "Sounded brilliant."

"What the hell, Ron," Harry hisses. "Why didn't you tell me your sister was an Angel?"

Ron looks surprised. "Why, blimey, Harry, I did. I've mentioned it a lot of times, in fact. She's the same one I used to tell you about, who had a crush on you when she was only ten and watching you on the Disney channel." Ron had been a member of a famous boy band before breaking away to write his own music. He was also on "Top Ten" lists around the country, though no singer could match Harry's incredible fame, and they had recently recorded a duet for Harry's latest album.

Harry swears under his breath. "Yeah, but…" In his mind's eye, he's always pictured his best friend's little sister as just that – _little_. He only met the girl once before she had been sent to a boarding school in America, and that was when she was just a chubby ten-year-old with a crush on the hottest child star.

He had not _,_ in a million years, thought she would grow to be the tall, confident, _gorgeous_ model strutting down the catwalk. He and Ron had met as eleven-year-olds on the same set for a Disney show, and they had been close ever since, especially as Harry rose to fame as a child actor and then started making his own music, and Ron joined the popular band _Wizards._

"Bloody hell, have you met any of the models yet?" Ron asks him, unaware of his thoughts.

Harry shakes his head as he lays his guitar in the case and stretches. "Just one, Hermione Granger."

Ron looks like he might explode at any moment, his face about as red as his hair. "You met Hermione Granger?" he squeaks. "The girl I've had a celebrity crush on ever since she first started modeling? Mate, you didn't _tell_ me?"

"Ron, I told you I met her years ago, and we caught up a little bit during a pause in the rehearsal," Harry tells him irritably. "Calm down. Besides, you didn't tell me anything about your sister."

Ron ignores him. "It's her," he whispers, eyes wide. He hops behind Harry, turning his back and staring at his clipboard as though he's busy.

Harry stifles a laugh. It's nice to see he isn't the only one with a bit of a crush. "Yeah, that's her. Hey, Hermione!" he greets her.

She's pulled on a pink silk robe over her lingerie, and she laughs as she greets him "Hey, Harry. Glad that's over?"

Harry grins. "Definitely. Now I only have to dread the real thing tomorrow."

"Don't worry, the show will be fantastic," she assures him. "You sound great, too – the sound people have done a great job."

Ron, who's working on the sound crew for the show because he happened to be in London, makes a sound like he's being strangled. Harry decides to embarrass him, even though he will probably be punished for it later.

"Yeah, I had a lot of fun recording it, especially that duet with Ron Weasley."

"Oh yes, that duet was lovely. Your voices blend beautifully," she comments.

"Um, would you like to meet Ron? He's probably around here somewhere," he lies smoothly, pretending to turn around and look for his best friend. "Oh look, here he is. Ron, this is Hermione Granger."

Hermione smiles only a little awkwardly. "Pleasure to meet you, Ron. I've heard a lot about you from your sister, she's one of my closest friends."

"Mph, yeah," Ron manages, twisting his hands together and looking anywhere but her. Harry groans inwardly; for all Ron's talk of being good with the ladies, he's really— _not_. At all.

Ron's face brightens as he catches sight of something over Hermione's shoulder. "Oh, uh, here's Ginny!"

Harry feels a flush come over his own cheeks. The redhead is walking towards them, taking off the yellow stilettos with a wince. "Have I _ever_ mentioned I hate heels, 'mione?" she asks, blowing a strand of deep red hair from her eyes.

Harry gulps.

Hermione laughs. "Only in _every_ show and photoshoot we're in," she says, grinning. "Harry, this is my best friend, Ginny."

"Harry Potter," she says demurely. "A pleasure to meet you again. I believe we first met at the Teen Choice Awards a while back, right?"

And now that he can see her, he remembers perfectly the redheaded little girl who asked millions of questions and, at the awards dinner, stuck her elbow in a dish of butter while in his presence.

How the _hell_ had she grown into this?

"Uh, yeah, um. Nice to meet you too? Again," he coughs out. Hermione raises an eyebrow, grinning.

"Ron!" Ginny says, noticing her brother for the first time. "I texted you earlier, but you never answered. Would you and Harry like to join Hermione and me for a late dinner tonight and the party after the show tomorrow? If you have other plans that's fine, but I thought, if you want—"

"Yes, of course we'll go," Harry breaks in charmingly. Ron, as slow as he is, begins to catch on.

"Sure, Gin," he tells her, his long nose twitching with suppressed laughter.

The redhead smiles, and Harry's mind goes blank. "Brilliant. See you then! Hermione and I have to get all this makeup off and get dressed. Meet us at the restaurant at 10, alright?"

Harry nods jerkily. "Yeah. Ten. Sure. See you there."

Hermione sends them a wink, and Harry can _feel_ Ron exhale a littler next to him. The girls saunter away, leaving the two young men – famous singers and performers they might be – sighing as they disappear into the crowd of models.

"Dinner," Ron mumbles, watching them go.

"Dinner," Harry agrees dreamily.

Ron glances over at him, suddenly looking annoyed. "What is it about you?" he demands grumpily. "I've idolized Hermione Granger for years, and when we finally meet her it's all about the famous Harry Potter."

Harry laughs easily. "Maybe she's just as caught up about you as you are about her and can't speak in your presence."

Ron grumbles, "I wish. More like Harry Potter's her idol, just like the rest of the world."

"Chin up, mate," Harry says, a little worried about his friend's behavior. It's true, Ron gets jealous easily, but he's also a famous celebrity, and his concerts are as big as Harry's.

Well, _almost_.

Harry changes the subject quickly, "Oh crap, what time is it?"

Ron checks his phone. "Uh, 8:20."

"We probably should get to the hotel and change," Harry says urgently. "Which restaurant are we going to?"

"Uh, I don't know," his friend answers. "I think Ginny said…"

The rest of his sentence goes unfinished as another model steps in front of them. Her dark blond hair is in obviously curled ringlets, and sultry-looking makeup cakes on her face. The model has yet to put on her cover-up robe, leaving her in just dark green lingerie.

Ron blinks, but all Harry can think is how good dark green would look on Ginny's pale, freckled skin.

"Hello, boys," the girl says, her voice bright. "I'm Lavender. I was wondering if you'd like to catch a drink with me?"

"Uh, I think, we made plans, but you could join us –" Ron stutters, his face turning red. Harry rolls his eyes. _Here we go again._

"Oh? And who have you made plans with?" Lavender asks, twisting one of her curls around her manicured finger.

"Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley," Harry tells the blonde quickly.

Lavender smirks. "I know those girls pretty well, mind if I join you? Where are you going?"

Ron tells her, and Harry feels a fleeting sense of déjà-vu. He yawns pointedly as the blonde begins to babble away.

After about five minutes of tapping his foot and glancing at his watch impatiently, Harry finally yanks his friend's arm. "Ron, we have to get back to the hotel," he urges.

"What? Oh, oh right. I'll talk to you later, Lavender," Ron agrees blearily.

Lavender titters a bit. "Can I have your number? You can text me when you're ready to leave."

Harry heaves a sigh as Ron taps his number into Lavender's oversized iPhone. "Ron…"

"You can't even _know_ how exciting this is for me," Lavender chatters. "I grew up watching you on the Disney channel and – no offense, Harry, but Ron has always been my favorite actor. And his music is just fantastic. I read an article last week and it said you were single, I was just like, how is such a hot and talented guy not snatched up?"

Harry can visibly _see_ Ron's chest puff up, and his friend's voice takes on a slightly boasting tone. "Well, maybe I'm just waiting for the right person," he quips, and Lavender sighs as though he had just said the sweetest thing.

"Ron, we _have_ to go," Harry urges for what feels like the hundredth time.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Ron says irritably. He drops a smooth wink at Lavender and flips his hair back. Harry guesses he thought the movement is attractive – at least, Lavender seems to find it so, judging by her fluttering eyelashes. "Bye, Lavender."

"Bye, Ron!" she giggles, cheeks slightly red and hips swinging as she walks away.

"Mate, what about Hermione?" Harry presses as they speed-walk through the door. Outside the city of London is dark and foggy, and misty rain dampens their faces as they wait for a cab. Harry pulls out a pair of glasses and a baseball cap, hopefully deterring the paparazzi at least for a few minutes.

Ron shrugs as he pulls on his own hat. "Uh, she was nice, but she kind of ignored me. Lavender, on the other hand…" he continued talking animatedly about the model, and Harry feels his heart sinking. If Ron actually starts dating the flirty blonde, Harry might just have to violate the best-friend agreement and conveniently move to Australia until the couple breaks up.

"Well, maybe you can talk to Hermione at dinner tonight," he suggests as they climb into the taxi and start back to the hotel.

Ron waves his hand unconcernedly. "Maybe. But Lavender will be there too…"

Harry holds back a groan. Even being able to talk to Ginny will be a high price to pay for the long night ahead of him.

•

"Ready to go soon?" Ron asks him twenty minutes later, downing his second shot of vodka. Harry prefers to talk to Ginny and Hermione completely sober (and also not give the British tabloids anything good), but Ron, apparently, has no such qualms.

Harry surveys himself in the mirror. Dark blue jeans – looser than the black skinny jeans he had worn onstage, but still slim-fitting – hang nicely, and Ron commented earlier that they made his butt look good, so. That's a plus. He's rolled up the sleeves of a grey button-up and left it untucked, which gives him a dressy-casual vibe, complete with a pair of slightly scuffed black Converse.

On the ride back, they looked up the name of the restaurant they're meeting the Angels at on Google maps. It's a nice, semi-formal little place with good reviews, so. Basically perfect for a first date.

Not that he's on a date, or anything. The idea.

Harry takes a deep breath and pushes his glasses up his nose. Though on stage he usually wears contacts, he's worn glasses all his life, and they ground him in a strange way that contacts never can. His favorite pair that's sitting on his nose right now are thick with squared black edges and, according to a slightly tipsy Ron, "brings out the black of your hair, mate."

Sober Ron just calls them "hipster glasses," which, okay. Harry can't really argue, so he just ignores him.

"Okay, ready," he calls to the front of their hotel room where Ron's pouring vodka into an empty Aquafina water bottle. Harry rolls his eyes and grabs a dark grey sports jacket as he strides to the front. "Mate, there'll be drinks there, you know…"

"I know, but it doesn't hurt to get a head start," Ron says with a wink. Harry just rolls his eyes again and opens the door to the hall.

They hop in another taxi and ride to the restaurant in silence, other than Ron's noisy proclamation that his " _water_ is very good." The cab driver isn't at all fooled of course, but just rolls his eyes and continues driving.

When they arrive at the large, crowded restaurant, Harry pays the cabbie and helps Ron out, because of _course_ Ron would be tipsy already. Harry knows he should've known; Ron has terrible alcohol tolerance.

They make their way inside, where the guy at the door immediately recognizes them and shows them to a table in the back.

Harry catches sight of Hermione, Ginny, and Lavender, seated in a wide boot in the corner. Hermione and Ginny look rather awkward as Lavender chatters on about something.

"Hey girls!" he waves as they approached the table. Already, people are whispering as they make their way to the back, but Harry and Ron resolutely ignore them as they finally reach the table.

"Hello Harry, Ron," Hermione says warmly, looking grateful for the distraction from Lavender's monologue about different types of lipsticks.

"Hermione," Harry says, grinning. He gulps as he turns to the redhead beside her. "Ginny," he adds, and grins a little wider when his voice doesn't squeak. _Victory._

"Harry," Ginny greets him with a quick grin. "We didn't get much of a chance to talk earlier. How have you been? It's been quite a while since I've seen you."

"Y-yeah, understatement," Harry stutters, because he's smooth like that. "Yeah, uh, I've been great. I'm sure Ron's kept you updated, but I've been really busy this year recording the album…" They chat for a bit about the album, then move onto Ginny's modeling work. Apparently she got into it during the years she spent in the states, and she and Hermione became friends in school. Together they went to New York and got a few more contracts, gradually moving up in the ranks until they got into Victoria's Secret.

Ginny is bubbly and intelligent and _adorable_ ; her voice lilts and her laugh sounds like sunshine _._ She snorts into her drink with laughter when he relates something Ron did earlier that week; Harry's pretty sure it isn't even fair to be that cute. The light above them casts shadows on her pale skin, and sometimes swings just right so he can see the freckles dusted like stars across her cheeks, unveiled without all the heavy makeup she had been wearing earlier.

The other three members of the party, on the other hand, aren't faring quite so well in their conversations. Lavender is rambling on while Ron listens and occasionally tries to interject, while Hermione fidgets with her straw. Harry attempts to include her in their conversation a few times, but Hermione seems to be able to tell that he wants to speak with Ginny.

Thankfully, the waiter soon comes with their food, looking a bit star struck at seeing three _Victoria's Secret_ models and two world-famous singers, but he takes it in a stride, which Harry's thankful for. While he loves his fans, it gets annoying sometimes to be constantly accosted with people wanting pictures and autographs.

"…and then Ron screamed, 'Get out of the way!' but I couldn't see what was going on, so I just stood there, and then one of Percy's basketballs rolled off the roof and directly onto my head," Ginny describes, her hands gesturing wildly as she speaks. "The problem is that the basketball knocked me over onto a bunch of boards next to the house, and there was a nail in one of them, which sliced through my palm. I had to get fifteen stitches because of a _basketball._ Fifteen, Harry!" she exclaims.

Harry snorts, trying to muffle his laughter with his sleeve. "Blimey, what the hell, Ginny? How did you survive into adulthood with all these injuries growing up?"

Ginny grins brightly. "Well, I certainly got used to getting hurt with all the older boys around. I was basically a mini-punching bag, though none of them ever _meant_ to hurt me. It didn't take me long to grow as tough as they were; I can't even begin to count the hours we spent outdoors plays rugby and hide-and-seek. Sometimes I think Mum brought us to the hospital more than school." She scrunches her nose adorably, and Harry beams.

Okay, he might be a little in love. Sue him.

Halfway through the meal, Lavender gets a text and has to leave, kissing Ron on the cheek before she goes. Harry notices that Hermione looks away as Ron turns bright red and stammers out a farewell.

Ginny leans over her entrée, her brown eyes twinkling. "Hermione's had a celebrity crush on him for _forever._ "

Harry snorts, leaning closer as well. "Are you serious? So has Ron."

"I can't believe they've never met, with me and Hermione being so close and all," Ginny muses. "Every time I was in London, though, you and Ron were always somewhere else in the world on tour or something."

"Yeah, I wish we all could have met earlier," Harry admits. "Better late than never, though, right?"

The freckles around her eyes scrunch as she smiles, and Harry feels his heart flutter. "Absolutely."

•

After dinner, the four of them go their separate ways with warm goodbyes. Harry's pleased to see that by the end of the night, Ron and Hermione are talking animatedly, and Hermione taps her number into Ron's phone.

Harry hides a grin.

"Do you like Lavender?" Ron asks that night after Harry's turned out the light. Harry can hear his mate tossing and turning in the twin bed across the room, and he sighs, knowing he probably won't get to sleep anytime soon.

"Would you like the honest answer, or the answer you want to hear?" Harry asks.

A pause. "The honest one," Ron eventually says meekly.

"No, not really," Harry admits. "She seems a bit flighty. Although, to be fair, we only met her about five hours ago. So if you think you'd like to get to know her better, you know I'd be there for you."

He hears his friend sigh into the darkness. "Yeah. As much as I hate to admit it, you're right." Harry snorts. "Shut up," Ron says without much heat. "I mean – I think I'm done dating around. I'm kind of looking for something more serious."

Harry sits up, surprised. "Wait, really?" His mate had developed a bit of a playboy reputation within the past few years, and while Harry preferred more serious relationships, Ron had gone for one-night-stands and hookups.

Neither of them had dated in any way, shape, or form for at least a year, though; Harry's new album had made sure of that, occupying most of their time. And if Ron was looking for something more serious, then—

"Well, I'm happy for you, mate," he tells him, plumping his pillow. After a pause, he cautiously remarks, "Hermione Granger seems very nice."

He hears Ron groan into his pillow and stifles and laugh. "She seems bloody _amazing._ I just—" he stops. "It's hard to feel like any girl would choose me when you're right there," he admits, quieter.

Harry's guessed at Ron's feelings on this subject before, but it's his first time actually voicing his insecurities. "I think you should go for it, mate," he tells him. "Ginny told me she's admired you for years, even before you got big. And she's really smart, and nice, and—"

Ron sounds peeved. "You don't have to tell me how amazing she is," he says, flopping over to the other side of his mattress. "For years, Ginny's been mentioning her, and you told me about when she was in your music video, and just – _everything._ "

Harry grins. "Well, I can't guarantee anything, but I really think you should go for it. She's going to be in London until the middle of January, and we're staying until New Year's, so—"

"Wait, we're spending Christmas at the Burrow, right?" Ron asks quickly, referring to his family's home on the outskirts of the city. "If she and Gin are here until the middle of January, maybe she'll be staying there too!"

Harry shrugs, though his friend can't see it in the darkness. "I guess we'll find out."

•

The next day is a flurry of preparations; sound checks, wardrobe, makeup, hair – Harry feels pulled in a million different directions. Girls in very little clothing are _everywhere,_ and he kind of feels like his face is on fire. The layer of light stage makeup over his olive skin should hide it (hopefully), but. Still.

When he finally gets a break for lunch, he finds Ron at a spare table. "Hey, mate," he greets him as he unwraps a sandwich one of the stage hands handed him absentmindedly. "What's up?"

Ron yawns. "Try being yelled at by four different people because you mixed up a few microphones. _Yeesh._ "

Harry chuckled, his mouth full. "Talked to Hermione?" he asks breezily.

Ron colors. "A bit this morning," he admits.

Harry raises his eyebrows. "And?" he prompts.

"Nothing," Ron says, scowling. "What do you want me to do, Harry, ask her out on a date after meeting her for the first time last night?"

Harry shrugs innocently as he takes another bite of his sandwich. "Maybe ask to accompany her to the part after the show tonight?" he suggests. Before his best mate can answer, he sees Hermione walking towards them over Ron's shoulder.

"Hey, Harry!" the pretty brunette calls, waving. "Can I sit with you both?"

Ron coughs on his sandwich; Harry thumps him enthusiastically on the back. "Yeah, come on over. Ron and I were just talking about you," he adds cheekily.

Ron chokes again. Harry keeps on thumping.

"Oh, you were, were you?" Hermione chuckles as she takes the cover off her salad and begins eating. "All good things, I hope," she adds, light and teasing.

"Oh, of course," Harry assures her. "We were actually discussing last night. I was wondering if you would like to accompany Ron to the party tonight after the show?"

Hermione blinks and blushes. Ron kicks him viciously under the table.

"Um, yes, I'd love to," she stammers, playing with the end of one of her bushy curls nervously.

Harry grins, because he's an _awesome_ friend. Really.

Ron stutters, "Th-that would be great. I-I'll meet you there?"

Hermione smiles. "Sure, yeah. That'll be fantastic." She and Ron make eye contact for an uncomfortably long time—or at least, it seems that way to Harry.

Honestly, his friends don't appreciate him enough.

A beep from Hermione's phone startles her. "Oh! It's Ginny," she says as she glances at the text. "Can she join us?"

"Why not," says Ron, shrugging, just as Harry bursts out, "Yes! Yes, of course."

Ron shoots him an odd look and Hermione smirks; Harry hopes he wasn't being too obvious.

He lights up when Ginny comes into view, having thrown on one of the pink silk robes she had worn yesterday. "Oi, Ginny," he yells, waving. "Over here!"

Well, if Ron didn't know about his crush before, he certainly does now.

 _Whatever_.

Ginny sits down with a container similar to Hermione's. "Hello lads," she says briskly. "Is anyone as exhausted as I am, or is that just me?"

Hermione groans. "Not just you," she assures the other girl. "I can't believe we still have almost six hours until the show."

"Yeah," Harry agrees, feeling the swell of nerves in his stomach rise to life again.

"We have to get started with the hair and makeup teams after lunch," Hermione explains. "I think they'll have food for us later, but you guys might be busy."

"I think I'll be with the sound team later," Ron adds, chagrinned, as he finishes his sandwich. "But I'll see you after the show?"

"Certainly," Hermione beams. "Would you like to get a cab to the party?"

Their conversation fades into the background as Ginny leans closer to Harry, that same flowery perfume tickling his nostrils. "How did you manage to get him to accompany 'mione?" she asks quietly. "We were texting earlier and I tried to convince him to, but he wouldn't listen to me!"

Harry grins, shrugging. "Obviously, I'm just better looking than you," he teases.

Ginny chuckles as she settles back into her seat, taking a bit of her salad. "Of that I'm quite positive," she teases right back, and Harry honestly is surprised his heart hasn't beat out of his chest with how fast it's thumping.

"While we're on the subject. Um. Wouldyouliketocomewithmetotheparty?" he gets out all in a rush.

Ginny raises her eyebrows. "Would I like to _devour comradery_? What did you say?"

Harry takes a deep breath. "Would you like to come with me to the party tonight?" he asks, slower this time.

She looks surprised but pleased, her freckles melding with a blush. "Um. Yes. That would be brilliant, thanks for asking."

Harry's pretty sure he might faint. "Brilliant," he manages. They're both smiling dopily like five-year-olds at the ground, and her cheeks are a faint pink.

"Harry? _Harry!_ " Ron's annoyed voice startles him out of his reverie.

"What?" he asks blearily.

"They're calling you," he answers helpfully. Harry jerks up; a director is motioning him over.

He sighs as he gets up, crumpling his sandwich wrapper into a ball as he stuffs the last of it in his mouth. "Coming," he calls, his voice muffled with bread. "Bye Ron, Hermione. Ginny," he adds with a shy nod.

She grins at him after the other two bid him farewell. "See you tonight," she says with a wink.

Harry can't help but feel like he's floating for the rest of the afternoon.

•

That night, he waits nervously behind stage. In less than ten minutes, the show starts, and his hands are shaking even worse than they were the day before.

Someone sits next to him on the bench. He looks up, expecting to see Ron or maybe Hermione; instead, Ginny sits there, her hair curled and in the silky pink robe. He can just barely see the edge of a blue bra strap peeking out on her milky shoulder, and he gulps.

"Nervous?" she asks quietly, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling around them. Girls are squealing and cameras rolling; pictures are being taken and makeup artists shouting across the room to each other.

He bites his lip. "Yeah." At her silence, he goes on— "I know, I know, I've done enormous shows before, and been on TV before, and all these different shows, and I _should_ be used to this, but…"

"But you're not," she supplies. "I get it. I've been in dozens of shows, from New York to Paris, and this is my second VS show, but—every time I walk down a runway, inside I'm terrified that'll I'll trip, or mess up something, or just— _anything._ I always know I probably won't, and that I've done it more than enough times to be perfect at it, but there's still this underlying fear that I'll screw up."

Harry nods in relief that someone understands. "Exactly," he replies softly.

She meets his eyes. "What I like to do is focus on one thing in my mind – a song, a story, maybe even a person – and just think about that while I'm performing. Because my body know what to do on autopilot, and sometimes I don't even realize I've been on stage until I'm done."

It's good advice; Harry used to do something similar when he first began performing. He hasn't used it for years, but—maybe now would be a good time to start again.

"Thanks, Ginny." He smiles at his feet, twisting his hands nervously.

She beams brightly at him, and Harry kind of wants to kiss her. "You're welcome, Harry," she replies, standing up and offering him a manicured hand. "You ready?"

He grins, his nerves a bit more calmed than they had been a few minutes previous. "As ready as I'll ever be."

The next few minutes are a blur. Harry gets a few more makeup artists in his face, and winces as other people tug on his hair and clothes. Finally, his backtrack starts playing, and he waits for the screen to rise.

He closes his eyes and focuses on Ginny's grin.

Then the curtain rises, and he raises the mic to his mouth and _sings._

The show goes brilliantly; no one trips, or stumbles, and after both times on the catwalk Ginny sends him a private little smile, or a wink.

He's in heaven, really.

The show ends to deafening applause, and Harry grins as he exits.

 _Now to find Ginny._

It takes a while of fighting the mass of models and staff backstage; numerous girls come up to him, asking to accompany him to the party, and a few even ask for his number, and obviously they're all gorgeous and Harry knows they're probably interesting people, but. He's only looking for a certain redhead, and no amount of busty blondes or beautiful brunettes is going to stop him.

Finally, he finds her, glowing from head to toe. She's changed into a pretty purple dress that sets off her hair beautifully, and Harry has to pick his jaw off the floor, because she's _stunning._

"Ready to go?" she asks, a smile in place, and Harry opens and closes his mouth a few times before he can answer.

Finally, he manages. "Uh. Yes. Go?"

"Articulate," comments a dry voice behind him. Hermione stands with her hands on her hips and a grin on her face as she watches them.

Harry blushes.

"Have either of you seen Ron?" Hermione continues, a rosy tint in her cheeks that definitely wasn't there a second ago. She, too, has changed; her formal dress is a teal-blue color that brings out the dark olive of her skin, and Harry's pretty sure Ron's going to die.

"Uh, no idea," Harry replies, fishing out his phone. "Okay, he says to meet him by the back entrance."

Ginny hands him a large black raincoat with a hood. "I bet the paparazzi are swarming the place," she explains. "Plus, it's raining."

Harry grins and pulls on the coat. He, Ginny, and Hermione make their way to the back, bending around makeup stands and cameras and squealing models.

Ron finds them at the back door with a large raincoat covering his own face and hair. The girls, Harry sees now, also brought coats, and quickly the three of them duck into the cab Ron had called. Harry doesn't see any paparazzi, but. He'd rather not have rumors about him dating either Ginny or Hermione at this point, even if he'd _like_ them to be true.

Well, not Hermione. Hermione is cool, but she seems like the girl he'd much rather be friends and argue about multiverse theories and egg-cracking with.

The party is held at a ritzy hotel in the most expensive part of London, which Harry can't exactly be surprised at. They tip the cabbie and quickly get inside the building.

Ron, of course, heads straight to the bar, and Hermione tags along. Harry watches them, grinning; his mate has known Hermione less than a day, but Harry has a good feeling about them. It's been a long time since he's seen Ron serious about a girl, and Hermione is brilliant, so.

He's happy for them.

Ginny seems to share his feelings. "I hope tonight goes well," she murmurs, standing next to him. No one has noticed that they came in yet; they entered the back way, so no one was looking.

It's nice, having Ginny next to him, in their own little corner of the world.

"Yeah," he agrees quietly. "Hermione's cool, and Ron's finally beginning to look for something more serious, so it could work out."

He feels Ginny let out a breath of relief next to him; she's so close he can smell the vanilla-scented shampoo she probably used that morning under the whiffs of her perfume. "I was going to ask you about that—I know Ron has a bit of a reputation for sleeping around, and Hermione is far too good a friend – and person in general – for him to break her heart."

Harry snorts. "Trust me, if there's a heart getting broken if they start dating, it'll be his. He's head-over-heels."

Ginny arches an eyebrow. "What about Lavender last night?"

Harry shakes his head. "He was just feeling—insecure, if you will. Hermione had been a little shy, and he thought she was ignoring him and wasn't interested."

Ginny chuckles dryly. "What an idiot," she says fondly.

"I mean, can you blame him? He's finally getting to meet his celebrity crush, and they both like each other. They might even start dating. No wonder they're both a little shy," Harry sums up, still watching his friend as he gestures wildly to a laughing Hermione.

Ginny ducks her head, smiling softly at the ground. "Yeah, I think I know his feelings exactly," she murmurs, and pink blooms in her cheeks as she looks up at him.

Harry's throat goes dry as he takes a step closer to her. Ginny rises up on her tiptoes, and—

 _Click!_ A blinding camera flash goes off in their face. "Well, you two certainly look cozy, don't you?" a woman's voice says, high and screeching.

"What the _hell,_ " Harry grouses, blinking furiously through temporary blindness. "I thought the paps weren't allowed in?"

Still tucked into his arm, he feels Ginny groan softly. "That's Rita Skeeter," she explains. "A reporter for one of the most infamous tabloids/gossip magazines in the country."

"Well, well, well, the Chosen One and his Angel?" the woman, Rita, cackles at her joke. "I never thought I'd see the day. And isn't that Ginevra Weasley, the _sister_ of your best friend?" Rita shoves a recording device in Harry's face. There are still spots dancing in his vision, and he tries to blink them out to see the woman in front of him.

Thankfully, Ginny takes charge. "It's none of your business," she says firmly, ripping the device out of the reporter's hand. "I don't know how you got in here in the first place, but get out of the hotel before I call security."

Rita blinks, looking a little unsure of what to do. Harry feels a surge of pride for the woman next to him; obviously no one stands up to Rita Skeeter very often.

Beside him, Ginny lowers her tone dangerously. "And if you _dare_ print either that picture or whatever crap story you're already coming up with, I have friends in high places, and I will make _sure_ that you never have a job again."

Rita blinks again, looking a bit like a lost, very made-up poodle.

Ginny raises her eyebrows, like _get going._ Harry tries not to laugh at the expression on the Skeeter woman's face.

Finally, the reporter turns around and wanders dazedly back through the crowd. Harry finally lets out the guffaw he'd been holding back. "How the hell did you do that? I've been dealing with paps for years and I have never been able to just—" he gestures wildly, "get them to _leave._ "

Ginny grins brightly. "I guess you learn something new every day," she quips. "Grab a drink with me?"

"I'd love to," Harry says, feeling a smile stretch the edges of his mouth. They make their way to the bar, although their progress is hindered numerous times as people stop to congratulate them on a great show or ask about Harry's new album.

Finally, they reach Ron and Hermione, who both are looking a tad tipsy. "I haven't been able to drink for a while, what with the show prep and all that," Hermione explains, a rosy tint to her cheeks. Harry can't decide if it's from the warmth of the hotel, the alcohol, or Ron's hand covering hers under the counter.

Probably all three.

"Did ya know, Harry," a slightly tipsy Ron asks, tugging on Harry's jacket, "that Hermione was the brightest student in her year?"

"I didn't, no," Harry replies as he pulls out a barstool for Ginny. She sits, offering a breezy smile, and he grabs the stool next to her, flagging down the bartender while doing so. "Congratulations, Hermione!"

"Thanks," Hermione replies, ducking her head shyly.

"You're bloody brilliant," proclaims Ron, smacking a kiss to Hermione's flaming cheek.

Harry stifles his laughter at their antics and turns to Ginny. "What do you want?" he asks.

"Whiskey on the rocks, please," Ginny orders.

"I'll get… mmm… a Georgia Peach," Harry decides.

Ginny grins radiantly. "The great Harry Potter, going for a girl's drink?" She shakes her head teasingly. "What _will_ the world think?"

Harry laughs, watching the way her brown eyes sparkled in the warm lights. "It's _good,_ " he defends himself. "One time Ron and I were at a stuffy party, and all the drinks were cocktails and sugary stuff, and we had a competition to see who could find the best drink." He gestures to the glass the bartender sets down in front of him; it's violently pink, and Ginny mimes gagging. "No, no, it's actually delicious!" he protests, trying not to laugh.

The redhead snorts, downing a sip of her own drink. "I'll pass, thanks."

They sit in comfortable silence; Ron and Hermione banter in the background as music streams lightly from the speakers, and the hum of the other guests creates a soft, calming atmosphere, especially compared to the chaos of the hours leading up to the show.

"Hermione said that she'll be in London until the middle of January," Harry remembers suddenly. "Will you guys be staying at the Burrow for Christmas?"

"Why, yes," Ginny replies. "Hermione and I are filming a commercial here for a perfume company a few weeks after Christmas, and I wanted to be home for the holidays. Since we were already going to be here for the show, we decided to just take a month off and relax."

"Cool," Harry replies. "I know you all put so much effort into the show, so it'll be nice for you. To relax."

Ginny nods, smiling. "And where will you and Ron be going for Christmas? I thought I heard him say he'd be home, too, but his plans seem to change daily."

Harry snorts as he downs the last of his drink. "Well, you're not _wrong,_ " he replies with a grin. "But yeah, I think we'll be at the Burrow, too. Mrs. Weasley invited us ages ago, and we haven't been able to be there for a couple years with the shows we've been doing and then the work on the album in LA."

Ginny beams. "So I suppose I'll be seeing a lot more of you two?" she asks.

Harry ducks his head. "Yeah, s'pose so."

Ginny takes his hand, her pale fingers a stark contrast to his olive skin. "Good," she says simply.

Harry has a rush of thoughts, most of which _oh crap is my hand sweaty I really hope my hand isn't sweaty—_ he's twenty-three, damn it, crushes shouldn't be this nerve-racking anymore—but he manages a slightly grimacing smile and bursts out, "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

Ginny raises her eyebrows, grinning. "Why, certainly. It took you long enough to ask," she adds, punching him lightly on the shoulder.

Harry shrugs bashfully, feeling like he was floating. "I only met you – well, met you _again –_ yesterday!" he protests.

"Alright, that's true," Ginny concedes. "When are you going to the Burrow?"

"We've been staying at a hotel for now, because it was closer to the show," Harry explains. "I think we'll be going over day after tomorrow, maybe Sunday?"

She smiles. "So. Take me out for dinner on Monday?"

Harry stutters. "Oh, uh, yes. Of course. Where do you want to go?"

"You pick," Ginny suggests, setting down her cup.

He smiles. "I know just the place."

•

"Okay, you chose pretty well," Ginny admitted. "I love this place. I haven't been here in – well, _ages._ "

Harry grins, a little smugly; it's been less than a week since the show, and while Harry and Ron have been staying at the Burrow for a few days, Ginny and Hermione just arrived the day before.

"Yeah, Ron and I used to come here a lot, whenever I was at the Burrow," he admits. "The woman in charge, Mrs. Sprout, used to give us free milkshakes in the summer."

The place in question is a tiny diner on the outskirts of London, only a few minutes from the Burrow. Harry and Ginny are sitting in a tiny booth, close to the roaring fireplace in the middle of the room; waiters and waitresses in red shirts and Santa hats bustle around with orders of steaming coffee and tea to melt the chill from the cutting wind outside, and a pleasant buzz of conversation hums in Harry's ears.

It's one of his favorite spots in the world, and he's more than a little pleased about Ginny loving it, too. Although it's not snowing – just annoyingly cold, with frigid wind and slushy rain – the atmosphere of the little diner feels warm and cozy, from the roaring fireplace to the mistletoe hanging over every table and Bing Crosby's rich vibrato echoing from the tinny speakers.

Harry might be a little biased, though; Ginny's smile is warm and bright, and she looks like she could light an entire room when she ducks her head and laughs at one of his terrible jokes.

If he looks at her with a dopey grin on his face while she's telling a story, then—well, he doesn't even care.

"Want a tea?" he asks as a harried looking waiter comes up to their table with a notebook in hand.

Ginny considers. "I think I'll have a cinnamon hot chocolate, thanks," she says to the waiter. He nods, then taps his pencil as he waits for Harry's order.

"I'll have the peppermint chocolate," Harry says, grinning. "Extra whip cream."

The waiter – Harry's thinks his name is Dean, he remembers him from the last time he and Ron frequented the diner – nods. "Are you ready to order your meal?" he asks.

"Give us a few more minutes," Ginny answers kindly. The young man nods, turning away; it's nice, not being bombarded with pictures or requests for autographs. The people who come to the café are mostly locals, and Harry's been going here for years. It's nothing new.

Of course, there are a few tourists once in a while; Harry can see a family craning their necks at him and Ginny and whispering behind their hands.

He turns his attention back to Ginny, wanting to be – well, _normal,_ for once. Just a normal guy on a normal date with a gorgeous, funny, intelligent, confident young woman.

Hopefully it won't be too hard.

He watches as she talks about something she and Hermione did a few months before, sees the strands of fire-red hair slip from the messy bun and frame her face, sees the freckles around her eyes scrunch when she laughs.

It's adorable. His heart hurts a little bit.

"And that was the first and last time I rode a rollercoaster," Ginny finishes.

Harry snorts. "Honestly, I've never ridden one. It sounds rather frightening."

Ginny laughs, delighted, and takes his hand. Harry tries not to think about it. "You should come with me and 'mione sometime! We could all go to Chicago sometime this summer and go to Six Flags; it's the best park I've been to."

"Maybe," Harry muses, imagining the four of them going to an amusement park together. Honestly, it sounds like a recipe for disaster, but. Who knows?

"Here are your drinks," Dean says, coming back with two steaming mugs. Harry grins at the ridiculous amount of whip cream on the top of his, while Ginny rolls her eyes.

" _Try_ it!" he insists, laughing. She obligingly takes a sip of it, brown eyes widening a bit, and gets a bit of whip cream on her nose. Harry tries to point it out. "You've got—right there—no, to the left—"

Ginny giggles, the whip cream still on her nose. Harry privately thinks it's adorable; he kind of wants to kiss it off. "It's good, but I think I'll stick with my cinnamon."

Harry sighs dramatically, purposely slurping his chocolate. "You're so _boring,_ " he whines, because he's actually a five-year-old.

Ginny snorts into her drink. "And you're very mature," she says primly.

Harry grins. "It's part of my charm."

She raises an eyebrow, leaning back and smirking at him. "I didn't realize you had any."

Harry places a hand on his heart, trying in vain to stifle his grin. "You wound me, madam."

They continue to bicker lightly, and honestly, it doesn't feel like any of the first dates Harry's been on before. Usually it's a little awkward in that first-date way; feeling each other out, figuring out interests, and the like, but this just feels like a meeting with a good friend, bickering and teasing and laughing effortlessly.

Well, except for the fact that there's mistletoe above them and Harry keeps trying not to let his eyes stray to Ginny's lips. He definitely wouldn't be doing _that_ during a meeting with a friend.

They split the special pancakes that the diner carries all day, every day; Ginny asks very specifically for chocolate chips, and Harry thinks it's one of the cutest things he's ever seen.

After lingering at the diner until the refills of their drinks have long gone cold in the bottom of their mugs, they leave a generous tip and dash out to Harry's car, shivering in the freezing wind.

Ginny puts on the pop Christmas station, grinning cheekily when Harry's voice comes on first. He just rolls his eyes and listens to himself sing; it's from a Christmas album from a few years back, and one of his favorites.

"—lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you," Ginny sings along, bouncing a bit in her seat, her voice lilting and on perfect pitch. He picks up the next verse with her, their voices blending beautifully, and Harry may or not fantasize a bit about doing a duet with her on his next album.

He decides that all-in-all, it's the best first date he's ever had.

(And when Ginny looks over at him, a laughing smile as they sing, and interlaces their fingers between the seats, well—Harry decides this moment is perfect.)

•

Of course, that moment doesn't last. As soon as they pull into the Burrow driveway, Harry can hear someone shouting. He and Ginny exchange a look before unbuckling and dashing inside the house.

They both pull off their shoes at the door – Mrs. Weasley is very particular about dirt on her floors – and skid in their socks on the slipper hallway floor before arriving in the kitchen, where the shouts are coming from.

Harry and Ginny come to a screeching halt, freezing at the sight. "Ron? _Hermione?_ "

Ron and what appears to be Hermione turn around. "Harry and Ginny! How did your date go?" Hermione asks.

Harry blinks owlishly at her. "What the _hell?_ "

The brunette is covered in what looks like flour, covering every inch of her from her bushy curls to the reindeer slippers on her feet. She gestures to Ron, who looks a bit sheepish. "This dumbass _accidently_ dumped a bag of flour over my head," Hermione explains peevishly.

"I didn't _mean_ to!" Ron protests. "The flour was on the top shelf, and I didn't know it was open, and 'mione was right next to me, and—"

"Maybe be more careful next time, and if you must spill anything on anyone, get it on _yourself_ ," Hermione says petulantly, folding her arms.

Harry turns to Ginny, and they correspond wordlessly.

 _Are they really acting like this?_

 _Yep._

"Just—clean up the flour before Mum sees it on the floor, Ron," Ginny says turning her attention back to her brother. "Honestly, you two…"

Hermione huffs, sending a cloud of flour from into the air. " _I'm_ going to go take a shower."

Ginny follows her after giving Harry a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for a wonderful date," she whispers, eyes sparkling. "I enjoyed it."

Harry feels like he's on a cloud. "I'm glad," he murmurs back, and he may or may not gaze at her like an adoring puppy as she heads upstairs.

Ron scowls at him. "Don't look at my sister like that."

"Like what?" Harry spreads his hands, exasperated.

Ron gestures wildly. "Like…like you want to kiss her and marry her and have a million babies and maybe get a dog and be grossly domestic. You would be the kind of couple to get matching tracksuits and go on jogs together. So. _Don't._ "

Harry sputters. "I'm not looking at her like that!"

Ron nods wisely. "Yes, you are."

Harry scowls, tossing a rag at his friend's face and grabbing a broom from the closet for himself. "Oh, shut your face. We have to start cleaning up all this flour."

•

"Oh, bloody hell," Harry hears Ron saying the next day as he passes by the room they're sharing at the Burrow, a basket of dirty laundry in his arms.

"What's the matter?" he asks, setting the basket down.

Ron shoves his phone into his back pocket. "The children's hospital just called us, and they want us to go and sing for the kids and maybe hand out presents."

"Why, that's fantastic!" Harry answers, laughing. "What's the matter? You love spending time with the kids, Ron."

"Well, I _do,_ but the only day they can do it is the day I was planning to go on a date with Hermione," Ron whines, picking up the basket of dirty clothes.

"Ron. You can go on a date with Hermione _any_ day. Sick kids in the hospital, _one_ day. Which would you rather do?" Harry answers firmly, hiding his grin. He knows, for all of Ron's grouchiness, that he absolutely loves singing to the kids in the hospital every year. It's one of the highlights of their Christmas season; whenever the two of them are in London for the holidays, they always make it a priority.

"Yeah, I guess," Ron admits. "Oh, by the way, the lady asked if we could do it on Wednesday. Sound good?"

Harry quickly calculates; it's Thursday now, so Tuesday… "Yeah, that should work," he replies, right before an idea hits him. "Ron. _Ron!_ "

"What?" Ron scowls.

"What if we bring the girls?" Harry suggests. "I'm sure they'd love to see the kids and help hand out presents and all that. We could even make it into a double-date and go out for drinks or dinner afterwards."

Ron's face perks up. "Yeah, that sounds fun," he agrees. "Go ask Gin if they can make it, yeah?"

"All right," Harry replies, taking the laundry basket and positively skipping down the stairs. "Ginny!" he calls as he walks briskly, the laundry basket hurting his arms. "Ginny _,_ where are you?"

"In the kitchen!" he hears her yell, and after he sets the laundry basket down in the laundry room, Harry trots to the kitchen. Ginny's at the counter, dressed casually in jeans and a loose grey shirt; there's flour dusting her clothes, and Harry raises and eyebrow, recalling a few days before when Ron and Hermione had their spat.

"Yeah?" she prompts. "You were calling me for a reason, I hope. Unless you just wanted to hear your own voice yelling through the halls, in which case be my guest."

Harry snorts. "No, actually, I was wondering if you and Hermione are busy on Wednesday?" he asks.

She raises an eyebrow. "No, I think we're free. Why?"

"The lady at the children's hospital just called to see if Ron and I could go perform a little concert and hand out gifts to the kids," Harry explains. "She knows us from before we ever got big and would just go see the kids when we were teenagers, so whenever we're in town for the holidays, we try to swing by the hospital at least once. Anyway, we were wondering if you and 'mione would want to go with us?"

Ginny brightens. "Yeah, that sounds lovely."

He looks down and notices what she's doing for the first time. "What are you making?"

"Oh, sugar cookies," she replies, her hands deftly using the rolling pin to flatten the pale dough. "Want to help?"

Harry grins and rolls up the sleeves of his sweater. "Let's do it. How do I get started?"

She gestures to the fridge. "I have another batch of dough chilling in there, just bring it to the counter please."

Harry grabs the bowl and sets it out. "Now what?"

She grins at his enthusiasm. "Now, you can use this—" Ginny hands him the rolling pin, "to flatten it all out, and then we can use the cookie cutters I got to make shapes."

"Oh, do we get to decorate them?" Harry asks, feeling absurdly excited.

"Yep," Ginny replies, looking through the bag of cookie cutters. "Which one should I do first?"

Harry points firmly to the camel. "That one. Definitely that one."

She laughs, bright and warm, and his heart swells. "But it just looks like a lump of—" she gestures wildly, and flour flies from her hands onto the floor, "I don't even know what! It literally just looks like a lump."

Harry grins. "Yeah, but use it anyway, and then that can be the one you dump a ton of frosting on and eat."

She rolls her eyes, but picks up the camel. Harry grins. "As opposed to all the other cookies, which we _won't_ be eating?" she asks, dry.

He shrugs, rolling out his dough vigorously. "Well, the ugliest ones taste the best, so."

"You have a very interesting worldview on cookies," Ginny teases warmly.

Harry nods. "It's a very _important_ worldview, Gin, don't laugh at me—"

She does anyway, and he joins in; it's nice, just being together. Harry could do this a lot more often. For the next few hours, they work together making and rolling out more dough in a comfortable silence, occasionally broken by a question of _which cutter should I use next?_

Finally, all the cookies are in the oven; they must have made hundreds, and Harry sighs wearily. " _That_ was a lot of work."

"Oh, don't worry," Ginny answers, leaning against the counter. "Now comes the best part! After they're done baking and cooling, we can—"

"Decorate them," they finish together, and Harry laughs. "Yeah, that'll be fun. Yours are going to be all cute and perfect, and mine will probably just be very colorful lumps."

"Oh, shush," she says, laughing and bumping her shoulder against his. He doesn't blush, he swears. "I'm sure yours will look great. I don't particularly have a lot of artistic talent either, so."

"So we can suck together?" Harry asks, grinning.

She purses her lips, smiling. "Yeah, pretty much."

Harry grins down at her, and she smiles up at him, and he's about to ask if he can kiss her when Ron and Hermione enter the kitchen, bickering loudly, and the moment's gone.

Ginny turns away hastily, and Harry sees her cheeks are flushed. "What's the matter?" she asks her brother and best friend. "You'd better have a good reason to be shouting like that."

They glance at each other, suddenly silent. "We, uh. Couldn't agree on whether ham or beef sandwiches are better," Hermione finally admits, a little sheepishly.

Ginny and Harry send each other a look of _how much more obvious can they get?_ Honestly, it's like babysitting five-year-olds.

Harry's the one who comes up with a solution. "Our cookies are about to come out of the oven," he offers, and Ginny sends him a look like _you're brilliant._ He beams. "Why don't you two help us decorate them?"

Ron and Hermione agree, and soon it becomes a full-out decorating party and competition. Ron tends to eat more cookies than he actually decorates, but Hermione is surprisingly competitive. She and Harry compete fiercely on who can make the best Santa Claus, then the best Christmas tree, and so on.

Ginny, too, is competitive, but she hadn't been kidding—her art skills are basically non-existent. Harry grins at a green blob she hands him. "What's that supposed to be?"

She smiles mischievously. "Well, it was originally supposed to be a wreath, but…" she shoves it into his face. "I suppose it has other purposes, too."

Harry blinks, his face covered in dripping green icing. "Well, that was rude," he comments before squirting hot pink frosting in Ginny's hair. It clashes horrifically with the deep auburn, and Ginny squeals as she grabs an icing tube and proceeds to cover him in it.

Of course, Ron and Hermione join in, and because they're very mature adults, it becomes a full-out war. Harry and Ginny team up against her brother and best friend; Ron has lime-green frosting up his nose and a dollop of vanilla in his hair, complete with tiny red and green sprinkles (Harry isn't even sure how Ginny managed that, but. At least now he knows not to get on her bad side, lest he wake up one morning looking like a demolished sugar cookie). Hermione's bushy curls are caked with blue icing, and Ginny has buttercup-yellow frosting on the end of her nose.

Harry kind of wants to kiss it off; it reminds him of what she was wearing when he first saw her a couple weeks ago, and he tries to banish the thoughts from his head, but it's kind of hard.

After the icing war, the kitchen looks, as Hermione eloquently puts it, "like a unicorn had diarrhea." Harry kind of agrees; Mrs. Weasley is currently out shopping, but if she comes home when the kitchen looks like someone drenched the room in rainbows and sugar, she's _not_ going to be happy.

Ginny seems to agree. "Guys, Mum's going to be home soon. We have about twenty minutes to preserve our lives."

"Our _lives?_ " Hermione squeaks, nervously grabbing a towel.

Ron nods seriously. "You obviously haven't seen Mum after someone's messed up her kitchen."

"Trust me, you don't want to," Harry adds as he fills a bucket with hot, soapy water. "One summer Ron and I were here – we would have been, what, thirteen or fourteen? – and our primary objective was to see how many tadpoles we could hatch."

Ron bobs his head, grinning. "Yeah, we found a string of eggs in the creek, and being the idiots we were—"

" _—_ _Are,_ " Ginny interjects, grinning.

Ron flips her off. "We decided to see if we could hatch them in the kitchen."

"The problem was," Harry continues as they all dip rags into the bucket and start scrubbing the counters and floors, "is that Mrs. Weasley was at a conference all week."

Ginny giggles. "I've heard about this part; it's kind of become a legend in the Weasley family," she tells Hermione, who's chuckling already. "When they first heard about it, George and Fred were pissed that they hadn't thought of it first."

"But we forgot about the tadpoles after they hatched. So when she comes back, she goes to the kitchen, only to find _thousands_ of tiny frogs hopping all over her kitchen," Ron finishes, grinning widely as he remembers.

"To be fair, it _was_ kind of brilliant," Harry reminds him, laughing.

"Yeah, but I can still feel the whupping Mum gave us out back," Ron grimaces, rubbing his backside. "She was _livid._ "

Hermione's positively choking with laughter. "Wow, it sounds like you guys had an interesting childhood," she comments when she finally catches her breath.

Harry and Ron share a grin, remembering the ups and downs of their friendship. "Yeah, we have some pretty fantastic memories," Ron admits. "Harry, remember that time…"

•

By the next Tuesday, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are pretty much family. There's only so much time you can actually live with a person without getting to be extremely close, and two weeks in very tight quarters will do that to a person.

"Ready to go?" Harry bellows up the stairs that afternoon.

Three replies of "Coming!" echo back, and Harry grouches a little bit.

It's still five more minutes until Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all file down the stairs, and by then Harry's a bit grumpy. "Guys, we were supposed to _be_ there about ten minutes ago!" he says, annoyed. "Honestly, Ron, I get the girls, but why the hell do _you_ take so long to get ready?"

Ron shrugs sheepishly. "I was watching Vine compilations in the shower and lost track of time?" he offers.

Harry shakes his head. "How do you even watch Vine compilations in the—you know what, I don't even want to know. Gin, 'mione, you ready?"

The girls have pulled on their coats. "Yeah, I'm ready," Ginny replies. They all tromp out to the car, fighting the freezing rain.

Within a few more minutes, Harry pulls up to the children's hospital and sighs. There are already paparazzi gathered around; he doesn't even know how they found out he was going to be there, but it's rather annoying. He's gotten used to being normal the past few weeks in the Burrow, and now he has to go back to reality.

Ginny, who's riding shotgun, glances over. "Oh, dammit," she mutters under her breath.

Harry purses his lips. "Yep," he says, unbuckling. "Gotta face the music, though. Ron, Hermione?" he says, turning to the back. "Paps are out. Wanna go to the back?"

"I know a secret way in," Ginny offers.

Harry turns to her, eyebrows raised. "You do?"

She grins. "Yeah, one time Fred was in the hospital, and George and I wanted to see him, but the doctors wouldn't let us into his room. So we found our own way in."

"Are you sure?" Hermione says doubtfully. "I mean, we are _supposed_ to be here this time. What if—"

"It'll be fun!" Ginny interjects, eyes sparkling, and how can Harry tell her no when she's looking at him like _that,_ with her eyebrows raised and a grin showing her dimples and honestly, he's not a _monster_. He can't just say _no._

"Okay, let's do it," he decides, sighing heavily. Ginny beams at him, and a warm, happy little feeling fills his heart.

They drive around back and get out; first, they try the back door, but it's locked, so Ginny shows them her back way in.

 _Apparently,_ it includes the fire escape and climbing in a window. Harry's not sure if it's entirely legal, but he probably has enough money to bail the four of them out of jail.

 _Probably._

Harry and Ron begin helping the girls reach the fire escape, but the fact that both of the girls are athletes and in _incredible_ shape slip their minds. Both of them manage just fine, and the boys are the ones fumbling to try to get onto the bottom level of the rickety stairs.

Ginny laughs at them, warm and bright. Harry growls, because his fingers are slipping and he's trying to _concentrate,_ dammit. Ginny's laugh is extremely distracting.

"Should we help them up?" Hermione asks, grinning.

Harry abandons all semblances of his pride. "Okay! Okay, yes. Help would be brilliant."

Ron, his pale face strawberry red, agrees, and the girls pull them up. The boys lay on the escape, gasping for air, until Ginny steps on her brother. "Come on, Ron," she sings. "Let's get going."

"I'm fine with staying here for the rest of the day," Ron says meekly. "You all can go on ahead."

Harry groans as he gets up, still breathing heavily. "Come on, mate. The kids are waiting, remember?"

Ron groans. " _Fine_ ," he grunts, getting up. "For the kids."

The four of them ascend the long, rickety metal staircase quickly. "Okay, here's where we get in," Ginny says bossily, after what feels like _hours_ of climbing. Harry feels a little faint; he supposes that if he dies, it's a good way to go. Trying to get into a children's hospital to surprise the kids for Christmas.

The girls aren't even _breathing_ heavily. Harry sulks a little.

"On you go then," Ron says impatiently as Ginny manages to work the screen off the frame.

She throws back an irritated look. "I'm _trying,_ " she snaps peevishly. "The window's locked."

Suddenly, the curtains are parted by two small hands on the other side of the glass. A little girl, maybe ten or eleven years old, looks at them and her face lights up with a huge smile. She unlocks the window, and the four of them tumble inside, landing in a heap on the floor.

"They're here!" the little girl squeals joyfully, running from the room.

The matronly director comes bustling in. "Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley! Oh, and Miss Weasley and Miss Granger," she adds.

By this time, they've all gotten up, the four of them standing in a row like children being scolded. It's honestly not far from the truth, Harry supposes.

"Whatever are you doing, coming in through the sixth story _window,_ " the woman, Doctor McGonagall, snaps irritably.

"Uh, there were paparazzi at the front, and the back door was locked," Harry supplies.

"So you decided to climb up the fire escape and enter in through a window instead?" She sends them an incredibly dry look. "You do realize you could have just called me and I would have gone and unlocked the back door for you, do you not?"

 _Oh._ The four of them glance at each other guiltily. "That…that probably would have been a better idea," Harry admits, a little shamefacedly. "I don't know why we didn't think of that."

Dr. McGonagall raises a pencil-thin grey eyebrow. "It would be helpful if you acted a bit more maturely in the future, Mr. Potter," she says stiffly, but Harry can just see the beginnings of a smothered smile creeping up on the edge of her lips.

Also, why does _he_ get all the blame? Harry pouts a bit. The other three had just as much to do with the escapade as he did.

Dr. McGonagall seems to decide she's lectured them long enough. "Now, the children are waiting, so please put on your best behavior. Also, see if you can freshen yourselves up a little bit. You all look like you just crawled out of a dumpster."

Harry glances around. Ginny has a smear of dirt over her eyebrow; Hermione has leaves in her hair, and the knee of Ron's jeans is torn. "Yes ma'am," he says meekly. The four of them follow her silently through the halls; Harry can hear children's excited chatter, growing louder and louder as they get closer to the lobby.

When they arrive, Harry smiles. There's kids _everywhere,_ some with casts on or in wheelchairs, others looking tired and ill—but they all perk up when he arrives, and the whole room erupts in cheering.

"Hey guys!" he waves bashfully.

The little girl whose room they fell into approaches them. Her curly brown hair falls past her shoulders in a chaotic mess, and dark, sparkling eyes betray her excitement. "Hi," she says timidly.

Harry gets down on one knee. "Hello," he says gently. "What's your name?"

"I'm Mia," she says, shy. "I like your singing."

Harry grins. "Why, thanks," he tells her. "Would you like to hear some?"

"Yes!" she cries, grinning and clapping her hands. She turns to the other kids. "Harry Potter is going to sing!"

The other kids cheer and yell, and Harry laughs, before realizing—

 _Bloody hell._

He forgot his guitar in the car.

He and Ron take the mics offered to them by Dr. McGonagall, while Ginny and Hermione start engaging in conversations with some of the kids. "Ron, I forgot my guitar," he hisses.

Dr. McGonagall hands him a guitar, sighing. "You forgot it the year before last. I was prepared this time," she says.

Harry grins and strums it. It feels a little different in his hands—no instrument can compare to the old, beat-up guitar he got when he was eleven and still uses as much as he can to this day—but it'll do. The guitar is already hooked up to some mic cords, so he exchanges a look with one— _one, two, three, four—_ and they start singing.

He _loves_ singing to kids, and it shows. Harry throws his heart into fun, lively duet; it's the same one he recorded with Ron for his new album, and they both enjoy singing it. The kids are ecstatic, clapping along to the beat and some singing along at the top of their lungs – a little off-tune, a little off-beat—but it's wonderful.

He also realizes it's the first time the girls have heard the song, and he grins, watching their faces while they sing. Hermione looks entranced as Ron is singing his solo part, while Ginny's grinning widely and clapping along with the kids.

It's fantastic, and Harry kind of wants it to never end.

Of course, it does, but the next few hours are pretty fun anyway; the four of them visit with all the kids, talking and laughing with them. There are cookies, and punch, and some of the kids shyly give them hand-colored Christmas cards after the four of them have handed out presents. Harry and Ron gush over each one, thanking the child who gave it to them until the kid's cheeks are pink with pleasure.

Then they all travel down the halls into rooms where the child wasn't able to make it to the little concert, and they visit each child, sometimes singing a little, sometimes not. Mia, the little girl from before, follows them around, her hand tucked into Ginny's; Harry watched their interaction a bit, smiling until his cheeks hurt.

By the time they leave, Harry's face is sore from smiling and his voice is a little scratchy, and he may or may not have cried once or twice, but. It's okay. His friends have as well, so.

"That was amazing," Ginny admits as they're leaving, a chorus of goodbyes behind them. Harry waves one last time before getting into the car.

"I know," he says quietly. "It's one of my favorite parts of Christmas."

She smiles a little and interlaces their hands. Harry tries not to faint with happiness. "Yeah, I think it's one of mine, too," she says quietly.

He grins over at her. "Mia seemed to love you. You're really good with them— the kids, I mean."

Ginny laughs, ducking her head; Harry thinks it's one of the cutest things he's ever seen. "Yeah, she was really sweet. She has cancer, but from what she told me, the chemo treatments seem to be working."

"That's good," Harry remarks quietly, thinking of all the kids in the hospital who wouldn't be coming out any time soon. For the first time that day, a little sadness seeps into his happy glow.

"Yeah," Ginny answers, squeezing his hand.

He squeezes it back, and no words are necessary.

•

The next few days fly by in a flurry of busyness; Mrs. Weasley seems determined to decorate every square inch of the Burrow, and she forces the four young adults to help her.

Harry's pretty sure he won't get bright red glitter out of his hair for _weeks,_ but. Ginny laughingly says it's a good look on him, so he's pretty okay with it.

They still haven't really defined their relationship; Harry catches her sending secret looks his way, and he does the same (although his are less teasing winks and more adoring puppy-eyes), but although they spend just about every waking hour with each other, they still haven't gone on another date.

Harry learns a lot about her: her favorite color is green, and she loves peppermint ice cream, and she's deathly afraid of the dark. One day, he finds out that she has a tiny, watercolor rose tattoo on her collarbone—he isn't sure how he hasn't seen it before, but it's gorgeous and so— _Ginny._

One morning only a few days before Christmas, London gets a very rare occurrence of snow. It's only a few inches, but. The four of them go out and have a snowball fight and build a snowman; Harry and Ron roll the giant snowballs, and Hermione and Ginny decorate it. They name it Albus; they all take a giant selfie with Albus in the middle, and Harry uploads it to his Instagram and tags the other three, just because. He knows it'll drive the fans wild, wondering if he's dating either Ginny or Hermione, and he _knows_ his manager, who's on holiday, won't be extremely pleased, but. He's ridiculously happy, and everything feels perfect.

Afterwards when they all sit by the fire, cheeks and noses pink, especially on the two redheads, and steaming mugs of hot cocoa in their hands, Ron suggests, "Why don't we watch a Christmas movie?"

"Sure," Hermione replies, tucking her knees underneath her on the couch.

Ginny pulls the fuzzy blanket around her tighter and gestures to the empty seat next to her on the loveseat. "Keep me warm?" she asks Harry.

Ron rolls his eyes; Hermione winks. Harry blushes and sits next to her. It's a bit awkward, until she rests her head against his shoulder and interlaces their fingers, and then. Well, it's perfect.

The movie, _It's a Wonderful Life,_ is one of Harry's favorites; he and Ron watched it years ago, and it's become tradition for them to watch it at least once every Christmas season. Halfway through the movie, Ginny curls up into his side, so close he can smell the vanilla of her hair, and Harry thinks he might burst from pure happiness.

He looks around the room, sees Ron with Hermione, his best mate with another friend he's come to care for, and it's just. He loves his friends, and he loves Christmas.

•

On Christmas Eve, Mrs. Weasley throws a Christmas party to top all other Christmas parties of all time. Ever. All of her kids are home—Charlie, Bill and his wife Fleur, Percy and his wife Audrey, Fred and George and George's girlfriend Angelina, Ron, and Ginny—plus Harry and Hermione, who she basically has adopted as the non-redhead children she never had.

Although the party's _supposed_ to start until six, by 5:30 the house is full to the seams, bursting with light and Christmas music and laughter and the smell of pine and cinnamon. Ron and Harry make awkward small talk with people and other celebrities they haven't seen in years, and occasionally raid the bar and the food table.

If there wasn't free booze and an incredible amount of food, Harry probably would have just holed up in his room for the night. That, and Mrs. Weasley would have been crushed if he hadn't come.

But other than that—Harry really, really wishes he wasn't here.

 _Besides,_ Ginny isn't here either. Hermione makes an appearance at about 5:45 in a flowy red dress, her hair big and curly and wild, and Ron blushes and stars and gulps before Hermione kisses him on the cheek and whisks him away.

Harry winks and mouths _good luck!_ at her as they leave; she winks back with a grin. He sighs, leaning against the food table. Now he has no one to talk to. Brilliant.

Mrs. Weasley comes up to him, cheeks pink with pleasure. "Harry, dear, join the party!" she says, gesturing to the crowd around them.

He sighs again. "I will—but where's Ginny?"

Mrs. Weasley scowls. "Oh, that girl. She was taking a nap earlier and I forgot to wake her up. Can you go fetch her for me?"

Harry brightens. "Oh, certainly."

She smiles warmly at him. "Thank you, dearie," she says before bustling back off to some of her friends.

Harry takes the winding steps two at a time, thinking _Ginny Ginny Ginny—_ before realizing what Mrs. Weasley said. _Oh, she's sleeping?_

 _I have to wake her up?_

 _Brilliant_ , his mind answers sarcastically. Harry gulps as he reaches Ginny's door, the room she's been sharing with Hermione. He knocks timidly, but there's no answer.

"Ginny?" he tries softly. "Hey, Ginny?"

Still no answer. Harry gives up and opens the door.

Ginny's in bed, sprawled childishly on top of the bright, sunflower-yellow quilt. She's just wearing a giant t-shirt, nothing else, and Harry refuses to let his eyes wander as he sits down and shakes her shoulder gently. "Ginny. Hey, Gin," he tries. "Your mum sent me to wake you up."

"Hm?" Ginny raises her head and blinks sleepily at him; her hair is a mess and she's not wearing any makeup and her eyes are only half open, but Harry thinks she's the most adorable thing he's ever seen.

He tries not to smile, but fails. "Your mum sent me," he says again. "It's almost six. People are already here for the party."

Ginny lets her head flop back onto her pillow, pulling the abandoned quilt back over her. "Go away," she groans.

Harry tries in vain not to chuckle. "Ginny," he sings. "There's _food._ And booze. And dessert."

She peeks out from under the quilt. "Food?" she asks.

Harry grins. "Yep."

Ginny reluctantly gets out of bed; Harry doesn't dare look past the hem of the overlong shirt, because. Too much skin. Too much leg. He's going to die.

She saunters to her closet, grinning. "Help me pick out something to wear. It has to be nice, or Mum'll kill me."

He walks over. "Um, this dress?" he tries, pointing to a dark, lacy green one, remembering her favorite color. (The way it would look with her freckled skin and auburn hair has nothing to do with it, he swears.)

She smiles, a little sleepily, and pulls it off the hanger; Harry dutifully turns around as she changes.

"Zip me up?" Ginny asks with a mischievous grin, pulling her long hair over her shoulder to reveal miles of creamy skin.

Harry gulps and helps her by pulling the zipper up, and if his fingers graze her back a couple times and he feels her shiver, well—no one can prove anything.

"Thanks," she tells him, a little breathlessly, when he's done.

Harry smirks; for once, she's lost her composure. Now she knows what he feels like every time she walks into a room. "Sure."

Ginny grabs a brush from the vanity and yanks it through her hair until it's less of a bird's nest. "Ugh, now makeup," she says, groaning.

"Don't wear any?" Harry offers. "You look beautiful without it. I mean," he flounders, "you look good all the time, but. Without it is good too. You're beautiful. I mean, you're not _beautiful—_ like, you _are,_ but you always look good. Which is basically the same thing. It _is_ the same thing. I mean—"

Ginny seems to take pity on him, her expression softening into small, fond smile. "Thanks, Harry." She sets down the tube of foundation she was about to open and merely puts on some strawberry lip balm; Harry most definitely does not think about what it would taste like. "Ready to go, then?"

He holds out his arm. "M'lady."

They walk down the stairs, arm-in-arm, and Harry feels like a five-year-old—giddy with joy and delight—but in the best way possible. Tomorrow's Christmas, and he's got Ginny on his arm. Anything is possible.

They mingle with the myriad guests a bit—Harry isn't quite sure _how_ Mrs. Weasley fits so many people into the first floor of the house at one time, but. Somehow, they manage, and everyone is having fun swaying to the Christmas carols and drinking sparkling champagne.

But when Ginny grabs his hand and whispers "Come on," Harry obviously follows, because. Well. It's _Ginny._

"Where are we going?" he hisses as they pass a group of happily chattering people.

She grins back at him. "I'll show you."

Their destination is cut awry, however, when they nearly run into Ron and Hermione in the hallway, kissing. Harry lets out a squeak of surprise, and Ginny laughs, but the couple doesn't even seem to notice them.

"I wonder if they ever come up for air?" Harry wonders out loud.

At his voice, the two spring apart. "Blimey, Harry!" Ron exclaims. "Healthy boundaries and all that bloody—"

Hermione, cheeks flushed and hair mussed, grins. "It's alright, Ron." She exchanges a smile with Harry and Ginny. The redhead whispers something in her best friend's ear, causing Hermione to blush.

"What did you say to her?" Harry asks, grinning, as they continue down the hallway.

Ginny flounces. "Oh, nothing," she replies airily. They've reached the quiet living room now; Mrs. Weasley had decided earlier to keep the party to the front of the house, so the living room is dark and silent compared to the laughing and music faintly coming through the walls.

Ginny sits on the loveseat, motioning for Harry to join her. "So—we haven't really had time to, you know. _Talk_ talk," she begins.

Harry grins. " _Talk_ talk? Is that a new thing?" he teases, and she blushes.

"Hush, Harry. _Anyway,_ I was wondering if, um. When we went out—was that a date?" she asks, all in a rush, and Harry grins again because she's normally so cool and calm and collected, and now Ginny's stuttering and her cheeks are flushed prettily and he really, _really,_ wants to kiss her.

He looks up and sees some mistletoe, tied above the loveseat.

So he asks, "Can I kiss you?" and Ginny nods, and he can feel her smile under his lips and she tastes like strawberries and he wants to die, but in the best way possible.

"Does that answer your question?" he asks, smirking, when he pulls back. He can see every one of the myriad freckles on her face, unhidden without the makeup she normally wears, and he thinks he might love her.

She pretends to consider. "I don't know, you might want to do it again just to make sure—" and Harry cuts her off with a kiss, her laugh turning into a happy sigh.

"Wait," Ginny says, grinning. "Does this make Christmas Eve our anniversary?"

Harry laughs, peppering kisses all over her face, just because he can. "I think that depends. Will you go out on _another_ date with me?"

"I think that would be acceptable," she says primly, and Harry feels like his heart might burst.

He kisses her again. "Then that sounds just fine," he murmurs.

He can't wait to see how many Christmas Eves they get to celebrate together.

(The rest of their lives sounds good to him.)

•

 _One year later_

His hands are shaking _insanely_ hard.

To be fair, he's singing to over sixty thousand people, _live_. No matter how many times he does it, he still gets ridiculously nervous. Plus, tonight has some added pressure.

He turns to the crowd, hoping the mic won't make an annoying squealing noise. "And in honor of my new Christmas album coming tonight, I want to sing my favorite song on it for you," Harry announces.

The huge crowd roars, and he grins. When his manager had suggested a concert on Christmas Eve a few months back to promote and celebrate his new Christmas album, he'd been skeptical, at best. But it had turned out better than he had ever hoped.

 _Especially_ if the next five minutes went as planned.

"I would like everyone to welcome my girlfriend, Ginny Weasley, who will be singing a duet with me from the album," he announces, and the audience goes wild with cheers and applause. Harry can't stop the dopey look on his face as his girlfriend walks on stage; they've been together a year, and he loves her, but. Every time he looks at her, it's like it's for the first time.

She blushes prettily, waving at the crowd. Harry watches sappily as a smile transforms her face; she's wearing an emerald dress, and it brings him back to the first time they kissed, at the Weasley's Christmas party.

He takes her hand, giving her a mic. "Hi, everyone," she says, waving again. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!" comes the answering roar from the crowd.

"Ready?" he asks her quietly.

She gives him a little grin. "Yep."

Harry takes a deep breath. "Just hear those sleigh bells ring-a-ling, ting ting ting-a-ling too," he begins.

Ginny picks up the next line, just like how they recorded it. "Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you," she sings, her beautiful voice blending perfectly as she smiles at him, and for a minute Harry can't breathe, because he loves this woman so much.

It takes him back to after their first date, when they sang it together in the car and Harry first thought of doing a duet together. It's one of his best memories, and every time they perform the song, Harry flashes back to that day.

The song goes perfectly and the crowd goes wild, but Harry's nerves have simply intensified. He takes the mic, ducking his head in thanks to the crazy cheers and applause, and begins. "As you all know, I met Ginny at the annual Victoria's Secret Show," he says, throwing a smile her way. She grins back, but there's a question in her eyes, because they most definitely did not practice this part. _What are you doing?_

He just beams at her. "This year has been one of the best of my life, getting to know you better and better, and I honestly don't know what I would do without you."

The crowd _aww's_ , and he can hear a few squeals; people are catching on to what's about to happen.

"So," he continues, fishing in his pocket for the tiny blue box, and gets on one knee in front of her. She gasps and the crowd gasps, and it scares Harry so badly he drops the box. The audience laughs as he scrambles to pick it up again; Ginny smirks at him, love shining in her eyes, and Harry feels a little faint with happiness as he asks—

"Ginny Weasley, will you marry me?"

•

 **Lots of love to Helena, who betaed and gave me many wonderful ideas for this thing. Love you, girl! :)**

 **Merry Christmas!**

 **WM**


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